The Wrong Cat
by ever the wordsmith
Summary: She fell in love with the cat who showed her kindness during a particularly rough time of her life. Or did she...? The story of the heart of a flower like it could have happened.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. I only make money working; my fiction is purely non-profit.

My beta: Signora Auditore, who earned my heartfelt gratitude through her endless patience while unravelling the makings of a foreign universe.

**Prologue**

The sounds of the victory celebration under the early stars mocked the lone figure standing in the edge of the elephant village. His gaze remained unfocused, directed anywhere but where the delighted cheers and enjoyment came from. The merry clinking of mugs toast after toast to some event the elephants could probably not remember anymore was almost a personal affront. The tiger had no will to celebrate, for whatever victory had been achieved during the dying hours of that day, meant only heartbreak for himself. Not even Wilykit's melodious tune could penetrate the dark recess of his despair.

It was the way it was supposed to be, wasn't it? He was the perpetual underdog, undeserving of the crown, the sword, and _her_. Of course she would feel attracted to the cat that held the title, the power, the future... His hand leaned against the vine-covered pillar by his side, and he finally focused his attention on the dilapidated stone wall corner, mindless of what that place had been, long before Grune and Mumm-Ra's minions laid waste on the village, too busy clenching his teeth, feeling sorry for himself.

That was why he did not hear her soft steps as she ambled his way, and that was hopefully why the sound of her sultry voice shook his very core. She caught him distracted. That had to be it.

"I heard about what you and Lion-O went through in there."

His face remained impassive as he turned to face her.

"I feel I've contributed to it by not being clearer with my feelings."

So here it was. She was determined to let him down gently. Well, he still had a good amount of pride left before his little brother started gloating.

"No. It's pretty clear you made your choice."

"You're right," she answered, her purple eyes holding just a hint of sweet mischief. "I did choose, years ago. During those days when I was tested by Jaga," she reminisced, "I came close to giving up. And then, I found your gift. Of all the flowers, you picked the Day Astrid. Each petal is said to have trapped a day of life within it. It gave me the strength to endure, to make it one more day."

She delicately inserted her fingers inside one of her armbands and retrieved an object that looked like nothing he could easily identify at first glance.

"This is the heart of that very same flower. I've kept it all these years in memory of your kindness."

He couldn't believe it. What was she saying? Was he the object of her affections? His gaze had softened as her words as hope crept back in. Sure she wouldn't be making this up. Sure this... had to mean...

His train of thought was interrupted by her step forward that shortened the distance between them, a more than welcome invasion to his personal space.

"Which reminds me," she continued towards him, swiftly and comfortably placing her arms around his waist, "I never had a chance to thank you."

His eyes widened in shock before instinct took over and he allowed himself to react to the warm, soft body pressed against his, the closed eyes and puckered lips. His movements mimicked hers as if they had rehearsed this dance, his arms enveloped her lithe frame, his head tilted to a side and his lips claimed hers in an almost chaste, reverent first kiss.

Who cared what that flower story was about and how a Day Astrid had found its way to her hands all those years ago. Cheetara was there, and she had feelings for him. Tygra was victorious.

The evening bell rung, twice.


	2. Chapter 1: On Her Own

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. I only make money working; my fiction is purely non-profit.

My beta: Signora Auditore, who earned my heartfelt gratitude through her endless patience while unravelling the makings of a foreign universe and convincing me that nobody "was sat" anywhere.

**Chapter One**  
**On Her Own**

The young female cheetah sat dejectedly on the cobblestone step. She was older than him, perhaps twelve or thirteen, but looked defeated. Was it the bent knees where her forearms found support? The hunched shoulders? No, it was the way her head hung down, allowing silky strands of golden hair to hide her features to the world. The young kit was sad and his heart fluttered an unfamiliar, not quite painful yet definitely concerned beat for her sake.

He knew not of her. She was not from around the few areas of the walled city where he was able to roam around freely, but that did not mean much. After all, the young lion prince's escapades had barely started and he had only been able to explore the districts of town closest to the royal compound where the many government buildings—including the palace in which he resided—were located. Her clothes were not particularly tattered, yet their badly crumpled status was noticeable even at a distance. It looked like she had slept a couple of nights on the step of the House of Clerics.

That could explain a few things. For starters, his brother's sudden devotion to his guard duties, an activity the tiger prince had loudly considered beneath his level to everyone who would lend him an ear. In the end, he had accepted it since its goal was to prove to his elders that he possessed the necessary discipline to be formally trained by his father's most trusted generals. Nobody could say Prince Tygra ever dismissed an opportunity to show off. If by the same token it could be arranged for his younger sibling to lose face, the better. But that did not mean he had changed his mind and found enjoyment guarding one of the less important—though certainly not less imposing—entrances to the citadel. Yet, he had lately taken to it with more enthusiasm than his early complaints would have given him credit for.

Turquoise eyes scanned the area again before returning their attention to the Clerics' visitor, who remained patiently waiting for spirits knew what. There was no sign of orange fur nor shiny armour. Yet, his brother had to be around there. He wouldn't wander too far away from the area. Or perhaps it was his own position, the lion surmised. He remained perched on the sturdy tree branch, uncomfortable as this one in particular was, ready to spend there as much time as necessary in the concealing cocoon of leaves. Hunting was, after all, about patience. He would lie in wait of his prey and attack at the right time. He patted the small bag at his side, his lips quirking up in a smirk.

_Let's see how you'll like fire weevils inside that shiny heavy grown-up armour of yours, big brother..._

Playful rays of sunlight tickled his eyes while he remained vigilant, attentive to the surface below him. His attention shifted from one place to the next, as movement betrayed the presence of a small rodent in the manicured bushes or he confused the rustle of the wind going through the tall crowns of the trees with the marching steps of one young sentry wannabe. The still female figure some hundred cubits away was stiller than their otherwise deserted surroundings in the early afternoon. The young lion did not notice how he blinked his eyes with increased frequency nor how his shoulders leaned back to meet the trunk of the tree. He was unaware of how his posture relaxed until his breath evened and he closed his eyes only to find no reason to open them again as the flickering sunshine lulled him into slumber.

~.~

Time has the annoying quality of being immeasurable. Two minutes can feel as long as an entire afternoon and a whole day can fly by in the blink of an eye, depending on circumstance.

A sleeping Lion-O was jolted awake by the sound of voices approaching him and whimpered softly as he felt himself fall. The first thing his mind registered is that the order was wrong. Shouldn't he feel himself falling and only then wake up? Unless, of course, he actually was falling.

Instinct has the redeeming quality of kicking in when all other senses are dulled, turned off or just engaged in previous appointments. Arms and legs flailed, eyes managed to open and send the correct messages to those extremities and claws sprouted allowing the young cat to find purchase on a branch significantly lower than the one where he had fallen asleep. Only then did Lion-O allow himself to breathe a sigh of both fright and relief, hoisting himself up to a position affording him better concealment from the approaching cats.

He tried to gauge the time he had been asleep, ruefully acknowledging his lack of attention in certain lessons might just be a bad move on his part. Calculating the sun's position in the sky as well as becoming familiar with the moods and orbit of Third Earth's sister planet and moons could prove useful in this situation, since he had no other way to ascertain the passage of time. Unless, of course, the approaching sounds belonged to a security detail sent out to look for the wayward heir to the throne, in which case he would have been absent from his lessons for too long.

The voices became louder when three figures turned a corner into the gardens preceding the House of Clerics. The ten year-old prince adjusted his position and his ears twitched trying to find a better angle to hear their conversation to no avail. However, the two grown cats on the front advanced with unhurried steps—which led him believe his absence had yet to be noticed—while the lightly armoured teen guard behind them tried to carry himself and his spear with martial seriousness.

Lion-O stifled a giggle at the sight, confident that his hiding place provided concealment from both his form and his sound, since in conjunction with the breeze it produced many sounds of its own. Trees were good places to hide and sprung a surprise attack on unsuspecting victims. His gaze strayed from the newcomers to his side to check on his bag, followed by an instinctive pat on the place it had been hung by his side, engaging a different sense to confirm what the first one had hinted at: the bag was not there anymore. A huff of dissatisfaction later the young cat had been able to recall the incident that in all probabilities was responsible for the bag to leave his possession and end haphazardly thrown on one of the lower bushes under his hiding place, visibly open and decidedly empty.

"Thank you for escorting us, Tygra." The deep calm voice of Head Cleric Jaga carried swiftly to his position. "You may resume your post now."

The sound brought movement from the almost forgotten figure by the steps. The cheetah sprung to life and stood in one swift motion. Lion-O caught a glimpse of the hopeful expression on her heart-shaped face while she respectfully stepped aside without taking her garnet eyes of the older cats. Was she holding her breath while she wrung her hands? Perhaps. The one who was certainly not breathing was his older sibling. He had detached himself from the group but he had barely taken a few steps away before taking position along one of the pillars nearest to the young she-cat and was trying to catch her eye in a very undignified manner while she, in turn, saw nothing past the old jaguar and his companion.

After so much careful planning Tygra was there, tightly wrapped in an armour that would have him requiring assistance to remove and definitely smitten with the cheetah. That meant he was positively distracted from his surroundings. All one needed to do was grab a few disgruntled bugs and push them between one of the many crevices in the armour that allowed direct contact with the tiger's fur and a sprint to the next sentry point. Pride and sense of duty would not allow his brother to follow him beyond that point, although there would be little pride remaining by that time. Yet, he had lost his ammunition and it wouldn't be easy to catch those particular insects again. The young prince decided he just couldn't catch a break.

The opportunity was gone. He jumped off the tree, recovered his canvas bag careful not to disturb the wildlife he had unwillingly released—he wouldn't become the victim to his own antics—and returned his attention to the characters enacting what looked like a comedy of miscommunication. The grown cats exchanged a few more words between each other before the old jaguar made an inviting gesture with his hand and both entered the House of Clerics. The young cheetah's body had turned from him, following Jaga's movements. He could see the moment her shoulders slumped dejectedly as the doors closed in front of her before she returned to her seat on the step, back to the position she had maintained all day long. He could also see the moment his brother's shoulders sagged too as she had never condescended to meet his gaze.

Since it was completely beyond his ten year-old mind to find significance to the scene beyond what he had observed, the lion swiftly left the area and headed towards the palace's kitchens. He needed to know the time to be able to offer his tutors the right kind of excuse for his tardiness. Perhaps, too, he needed a sandwich.

~.~

The Royal Kitchens were unsurprisingly the warmest rooms of the palace. Its entrance was wide enough to rival the main gates that were thrown invitingly open to welcome both visiting dignitaries and honoured Thunderans, just not as elaborately ornate. Whenever a feast approached its outer doors were open all day long while carriages of all shapes and sizes delivered the most delectable foodstuffs and beverages while the different rooms and quarters became a beehive where an incredible number of people danced around each other in order to prepare the dishes that would delight the Royal Family and their distinguished guests.

On a regular basis it was still a hub of activity, particularly around mealtimes. At least one of the double doors was ajar and Lion-O slid inside to the wide hall behind. Several people crossed it from one side to the other, alternatively emerging and disappearing from the doors that lined both sides carrying different goods and utensils. The Kitchen's Hall received light from a window at the opposite end, where it was crossed by a hallway leading to the servants' quarters on the left, and the stairs leading up to the royal dining rooms and ballrooms on the right, past which the Throne room could be found.

Lion-O was not interested in going there. He knew he was supposed to be on the third floor, bored out of his mind trying to learn how to handle diplomatic relations. Or worse, elbow-deep in old, mouldy parchment with his history tutor. Instead, he padded along as silently as he could, ignored by the odd maid who crossed the hall with a dangerous looking pile of spotless pots and pans towards the main kitchen, and the station cook reviewing a list of vegetables to be retrieved from the pantry. A quick peek into the scullery revealed a couple of lively bubble dancers* lovingly drying the dinner service they had just finished to scrub clean. On a busboy cart upon different trays lay the glassware and other tableware, ready to be wheeled back to the serving pantrythrough the inner sloped corridor that connected the kitchen with the level above.

It was obvious time for the afternoon break, which marked a pause between duties for all of the palace inhabitants and daily visitors, as well as the start for dinner. The young prince took a deep breath and pushed open the door that led him to the main kitchen, where he had barely enough time to find something to eat as things started to turn chaotic with chopping, boiling, stirring, kneading, grilling, frying and baking.

In the gravitational centre of such controlled chaos was Cook, the most permanent fixture of the place, preparing meals from the dark hours before dawn to the dark hours after dusk. The queen of her small domain to herself, quite a harridan to about everyone under her iron fisted rule. Cook was a homely grandmother many times over whose ample bosom and thick furry arms had provided both comfort and nourishment to both her own family and three generations of royals while offering a loaded comment or stern disapproval to whoever failed under her quite exacting quality standards.

Yes, comfort food was Cook's specialty and she bestowed it lavishly on friends and foes alike—not that anyone would ever remain her foe: whether it was out of love of food or fear of her acidic tongue, no cat wanted to be on Cook's wrong side. To be fair, she was also a very forgiving person, after she got what she wanted just the way she wanted it, of course. The elderly wildcat bowed to no-one but the King, with a soft spot for each of her grandchildren—perhaps just to piss her own offspring off—and the two Thunderan princes. Everyone else better fall into step, regardless of seniority, rank, race and blood status. Everyone else either complied with any and each of her demands or stayed well out of her way.

All of them became comfort eaters.

"Running away from your lessons again, Prince Lion-O?" she greeted him, a carefully trimmed eyebrow darting up in mocking disapproval.

A sheepish grin. "I had to... errr... run an errand?" the prince offered lamely, the hint of a question mark at the end of the sentence through the inflection in his voice.

"Of course you did," Cook motioned for him to settle at the quietest end of one of the long island counters running the length of the kitchen. With ease that sprung from familiarity, Lion-O gathered two stools and pushed them there, settling down in anticipation at the small feast soon to be provided for his sole benefit. The elderly cat almost pranced around collecting different dishes and trays she lavishly presented on the countertop, each filled with pasties, egg and vegetable rolls, a light pasta salad with chopped garden produces, a tantalising selection of tea sandwiches including the young lion's favourites—meat and legumes being at the top of his list while herbs and cheese followed close second—and a mouth-watering assortment of fruits she had in all likelihood collected herself that early morning in the palace's orchard.

He didn't wait for her to finish setting the small feast that was being laid down for his selfish enjoyment; neither did he wait for the welcoming, calming aroma of the hot beverage she would soon produce for his benefit before tucking in with the enthusiasm that undoubtedly preceded a growth spurt. "And where, pray tell, did this errand of yours take you this time?" she asked bemusedly while returning the hot kettle to its place on the back island and circling around with practised ease to a stool where she could keep tabs on both her honoured guest and the hard-working staff.

The most pressing edge of his youthful hunger was nowhere near being assuaged, thus a piece of tender meat surrounded by crispy dough was halfway to his mouth. Whether to enjoy the morsel or offer an answer was a concern that did not plague the young prince as he summarily decided to take the bite first, then devote all of his energy to chew at top speed in order to be able to offer his answer in the most polite manner available to his young age and near-starved feelings. Mindful of a number of stories making their rounds through the palace since an early age, he swallowed carefully. The vignette involving Claudus, his most noble father in law to be, and a half-chewed, half-swallowed bite that landed on the elder cat's most gracious chest while the King nearly died by asphyxiation during his betrothal feast was still a sore tear in the fabric of the Royal Family's pride.

"Cleric's outer gardens," he offered and promptly filled his mouth again with the last of his pasty, to next wash it down fast with the sweet, spicy and frothy refreshment. Unruffled by his table manners, Cook imperiously pressed a napkin to his mouth, against which the lion prince quickly rubbed, mindless of his whiskers, while his hands remained occupied gathering more provisions.

"Isn't Prince Tygra's post there?"

A pause. Young cerulean eyes met the comforting old wildcat's dark ones with the certain knowledge he had been discovered. So much for subtlety, but he would keep trying. The food that continued piling up in his plate suddenly claimed his attention, or at least gave him the needed excuse to break Cook's shrewd gaze. "There was a cat, too."

"The cheetah?" Only an emphatic nod was the answer, as the voracious lion cub had found abundant opportunity to stuff his mouth with rolls. Cook assented back. "I've heard of her."

With peaked curiosity, a few muffled sounds pretended to encourage his conversational partner to disclose more information. An amused grin graced her usually rather severe countenance before it returned to normal as her keen attention to the details surrounded them proved as omniscient as the tales advertised. "Don't you dare drop that into the pot before it's boiling!" she snipped at one of her assistants that appeared ready to take a shortcut in his duties.

The white-clad cat quickly turned towards her, the wooden chopping board, still carrying the perfectly sliced vegetables for her inspection. "It—" he faltered, "It's not what you think."

"Please, Ulas," she firmly addressed the bobtail. "Don't inform me what I think. I'm too old to know myself at times. Right now all you need to do is put that away until the time is right, before I mistake your tail with one of the hare's we'll grill tomorrow and you suddenly start climbing the social ladder." Cook paused, taking in poor Ula's distressed state and deciding it was enough, for now. "Carry on," a dismissive wave of her hand produced the desired effect as the bobtail turned from her hastily and made a show out of how devoted he was to his responsibilities. Like a tidal wave, it seemed like the whole kitchen staff stepped in line as well.

Satisfied after a careful sweep of her domains, Cook's attention returned to her favoured guest, who had continued to inhale the repast she had provided. The elderly servant allowed his lack of manners simply because he was always caring enough and respectful enough both to her and the cats in her charge. She'd also be damned if she were to be found doing somebody else's job. They had an ongoing conversation as well.

Without waiting for his question, especially considering his mouth was still full and she took well-deserved pride in her prim, spotless apron, she offered what little she knew. "It's a test of sorts, and it's not the first time it's happened. Just like your father is seeing what your brother is made of before he is officially accepted in the ranks, the Clerics are observing her, considering whether to let her join them or not."

"Oh." Lion-O finished swallowing after talking, earning a reproving glance from his host. No recriminations made it past her lips as his next phrase sunk in. "I should help her."

"No, cub," Her head shook emphatically, but no strands of hair escaped the tight bun at the top. "You must not intervene." His eyebrows shot up, half questioningly, half in despair. Perhaps a little bit in protest as well. An authoritarian index finger stopped him from voicing his disagreement. "She is on her own, cub. That is how it must be if she is to have a fair chance."

"And you should respect that, Prince Lion-O." The cracked, rusty voice startled him enough to unsettle him from the stool he was perched upon, and the lion found himself unsteadily landing on the floor. His hands grabbed the countertop for support as he turned to face a cat old enough to be Cook's grandparent. If he wasn't, his long white whiskers and hunched shoulders certainly made him look the part.

"Pro—professor!" He stammered, realising he had forgotten to both check the time and concoct an excuse. He couldn't use the errand one, because professor Galadrius would not take his unsanctioned stroll during schooling hours as good-naturedly as Cook had. No other excuse had functioned in the past, either, no matter how exotically contrived he hadn't even gotten a praise for his imagination. The swotty, strict lynx-jaguar was not to be trifled with.

"My, Galadrius, thank you for saving me the trip to the third floor to return your charge," Cook came unbidden to his rescue, rising from her seat while ignoring his most grateful glance and holding the teacher's sceptical one as if daring him to answer back. "You could have heard his growling stomach from down here! You can't teach a cub with an empty stomach!" She raised her palm, halting the bookish elder's speech. "No need to thank me. Just send him each afternoon at this time and I'll take care of him. Now off you go, come on," she clapped and motioned for them to get out. "We have much to do here and can't keep you entertained anymore."

Lion-O mumbled his heartfelt thanks as he scurried away after his professor, who tried his best to remain calm and dignified as he led his student out of the kitchens and back to class, any thought of reprimand forgotten, at least for the time being. There was no doubt he'd be in a bit of a pickle that night when his father heard from his youngest son's afternoon's escapade.

* * *

* The bubble dancer is one of the most valuable and unrecognised of kitchen staff—the dishwasher!


End file.
